


User Accounts

by entanglednow



Series: The Fourth Wall [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 17:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/151699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Winchesters go hunting, Castiel learns life lessons and Lucifer finds out what Sam wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	User Accounts

  
"Ow."

Castiel's fingers pause where they're smearing cream on the overheated skin of Dean's left shoulder.

"Jesus, that hurts," he says through his teeth. Which isn't entirely surprising since he now has a three inch wide anti-possession sigil burned into his skin. Castiel's hand is moving again, slower and more gently than before.

"This is real right?" Dean asks for maybe the fourth time. "I mean you've told me but I still don't quite believe it."

Castiel's other hand is spread open, low on his back. It's warm and distracting enough to make the bone-deep ache of his new mutilation not quite so bad.

"Anna concluded that the brand is genuine. Made specifically for this purpose. Though she doesn't know how."

"You didn't tell her where it came from?" Because Dean's pretty sure that wouldn’t end well.

Castiel's fingers pause. "I thought it best to be circumspect."

"Yeah, that," Dean says roughly.

"Though she was unhappy. The unusual nature of the object, and its obvious possibilities stunned her."

"Oh, by all means lets tell her that Lucifer has a thing for my brother and he left it for us. Which, I'm happy about, seriously. Don't get me wrong, not being a vessel is awesome." Dean awkwardly stretches out so Castiel can reach the high curving edge that's giving him the most trouble. "But, I'm less happy about the fact that he apparently knew where we were and could waltz in any time he damn well pleased."

"I never told him," Sam insists from the other bed.

Dean winces under Castiel's fingers when he hits a deep part. "I don't think you did. I just - Jesus - we've been pretty sure if he ever found out where we were he was going to show up, kill me and torture you into saying yes. And now we find out he's had as much access as maid service the whole time."

Sam sighs and tries to turn to face him, only to stop abruptly and hiss discomfort.

"Ow, shit." He stops trying and flops his way back into the pillow instead.

He's being way more of a baby about his new body art than Dean is.

"I should cover Sam's too," Castiel tells him.

Dean grunts something unhappy. "I'm really unhappy about the idea of you putting cream on my brother," Dean complains quietly into the pillow. Castiel makes a soft noise above him, hand briefly warm and tight against the curve of his ribcage, leaving sticky fingerprints on his skin.

"You'd prefer to see him suffer?"

Dean makes a grumbly noise.

"Hell, go on then, but no funny business."

"I promise I won't try to seduce him," Castiel says flatly. Because _clearly_ the angel needed to learn sarcasm and then use it against him.

The bed moves when he stands up and takes the cream over to where Sam's still being a pussy. Sam pulls a face when Castiel starts touching him, and Dean's honestly not sure if it's because it's that strange mixture of cold and stings-like-hell or because it's Cas.

But eventually he relaxes and sighs again.

"I just think, I don't know, what if there's something we're not seeing here. There has to be a reason for this. You don't just stumble onto a way to end the apocalypse. Things like that don't just get left in your motel room."

Dean would throw a pillow at him if he wanted to suffer for it.

It's a close thing.

"Sam you're not so much looking a gift horse in the mouth as you are cleaning its god damned teeth now."

Sam huffs into his own arm. "Why did Lucifer give up his one chance to use me as a vessel and take over the world?"

Dean turns his head and raises an eyebrow at him.

"Dude, I don't know, I don't care. But the next time you see him you're putting out."

"Not funny," Sam says sharply.

Even Castiel's giving him that wildly disappointed expression and - God - Dean is so screwed.

"Ok, fine, I'm not actually serious about prostituting Sam out in exchange for Lucifer not starting an apocalypse," he says flatly. "I'm just saying it's kind of obvious that Sam had something to do with it."

"But why," Sam insists. "I know he wanted -" he makes an awkward hand gesture which seems to be suggesting some sort of sexual perversion Dean isn't familiar with. "I know he wanted that but I didn't - I mean there _wasn't_ any and he's the devil. He wouldn’t just throw everything down on the table like that. He wouldn’t make it this easy."

"I believe Lucifer was making a gesture," Castiel says carefully. Dean's about to point out that that's naive even for him but Sam beats him to it by making a noise in his throat.

"No, a gesture would have been -" Sam stops talking abruptly.

"What?"

"It's a big gesture," Sam says slowly, thickly. Then buries his face in his arm and doesn't say anything else.

"Christ, it's like living in a romance novel," Dean complains.

  
~~~~

  
They tape each other up. Since Castiel seems to find tape bewildering and succeeds more in taping his fingers together in a very un-angelic sort of way. Which Sam suspects Dean's going to be finding funny for _weeks._ Much to Castiel's annoyance.

There's still hunting to be done, people to protect. Just because the Winchesters aren't vessels any more doesn't mean they can ignore the crap that's going on. There's still a spate of disappearances from a hotel seventy miles away and rumours of animal attacks that are baffling animal experts a day's drive away. They flip a coin and end up heading for the hotel.

They don't have to use any of Dean's solid gold bullshit to get themselves in because the guard has fallen asleep next to his pizza.

Sam takes the stairs three at a time. While Dean just does his best to avoid the gum and ice cream wrappers. Castiel takes them one at a time like he's mounting a ceremonial altar.

The sixth floor seems to be where most people have disappeared from. Dean's grumbling something about them being sucked into another dimension.

"A tear between dimensions would be noticeable," Castiel provides. "From considerably further away than Wyoming."

"Maybe they got sucked into the past," Dean offers instead.

"For what purpose?" Castiel sounds genuinely curious.

"Seriously, no more sci-fi marathons for you two," Sam complains from the landing of the fourth floor.

Dean grins up at him.

"What's the matter Sam? You don't want to branch out into some Men in Black kind of stuff?"

"I'd be happier if we could just hunt in one genre thank you. If we open the doors the next thing you know we'll be hunting fairies in the woodshed."

Castiel makes a noise. "Fairies are formidable foes, they hunt in vast numbers and are known to be excessively vicious."

They both glare at Castiel at the same time. The angel seems to realise that may have not been a helpful addition to the conversation.

"But they have not been seen in this dimension for a long time," he adds.

"Awh, man, don't tempt fate like that," Dean tells him.

Castiel frowns his special frown of 'I have no idea what the humans are talking about' at Dean.

"Dude, you don't say something terrible and then add something like 'but that hasn't happened for ages.'"

"Yeah, Cas, that pretty much guarantees it's going to happen tomorrow," Sam offers from the fifth floor.

"That assumption makes no sense," Castiel protests. Through what's clearly a good deal of confusion.

Sam hears a smack which he assumes is Dean patting Castiel on the shoulder.

"You'd be amazed how often it happens."

"Especially to us," Sam grumbles.

The sixth floor is mostly empty. Sam's not surprised, let a place get creepy enough and even most ordinary people will be reluctant to go swanning around in it. Which, granted, is still less good sense than most cats and dogs. But people are funny like that. Animals don't have the luxury of self-delusion.

Room 107 seems to be the most likely culprit, so that's exactly where they head. The room's been pretty much cleared out. Which suggests it's bad enough that the management don't want anyone sleeping in here any more. You know it's bad when they're giving up on the cash.

Sam checks the windows. Dean pokes at an abandoned sheet with a boot.

"So what do we think, angry previous tenant, or did maid service not get a big enough tip?"

Sam's about to reply to that - before Castiel swings an arm out and snatches Dean's hand.

He's fairly sure the angel was trying to teleport them out of there. Because the next thing Sam knows he's on the floor and his head's ringing. It's not a ghost. It's not anything anyone needs saving from. Except maybe them. Because the angels have used their determination to save people to find them.

Some god damn angels.

Sam ends up with his face pressed into the floorboards, and pushing up only succeeds in making his back sting like a bitch. The raw brand mark thumping and grinding against a rock hard angelic forearm. Dean's thrashing on the floor beside him and Sam's pretty sure that the faraway 'thud' of something heavy hitting a wall is thanks to Castiel strong objection to being held down. Judging by the angry shouting he's winning. Until Dean makes a noise like someone has twisted something a little too far and everything is briefly quiet.

The angel holding Sam puts a little more weight into his insistence that he stay still. Until his neck aches where it's bent.

Sam left staring at shiny obnoxious shoes that he's pretty sure belong to Zachariah. When the angel behind him hauls his head up he has it confirmed. And Zachariah is clearly furious.

"I don't know how you did it but it's something you're going to regret, albeit very briefly," he growls out. Sam didn't even know angels were allowed to be so angry they were vibrating with it. But he thinks maybe this, if nothing else, confirms that the brand really is genuine. They're officially incapable of being vessels and no matter how brief the rest of their lives are, that's got to be a win. Still he's not going down gently, even if the fingers he's digging into the rock solid angel arm are doing absolutely nothing.

Castiel looks bloody and furious. He's quite obviously harder to hold than them, and the angels are using more force because of it.

"Get your damn hands off of him," Dean snaps and jerks against the angel who's holding him on the floor. Judging by the furious grunt he's having about as much trouble as Sam is.

Though the angel holding Sam isn't being gentle about it at all, it's like being twisted round an iron bar and the brand on his back flares like a bitch at the movement.

"Congratulations," Zachariah says angrily. "You finally have what you wanted. You're nothing now. Any importance you might have had was lost the moment you removed yourselves from the playing field. You're now surplus to requirements."

"God, you really are a fanfic villain aren't you," Dean complains through bloody teeth. "They're going to love you. With your catchphrases and your talking and your smarmy bullshit. I think I preferred the tentacle monsters."

Zachariah clearly has no idea what he's talking about. So he ignores him.

"One of the Archangels can deal with all of you. And if they can't peel those symbols off of you one layer of skin at a time then they can destroy you. Divine punishment for this outright blasphemy."

Dean makes a noise that suggests the angel holding him disapproves of his wriggling and the one holding Castiel now has blood across his mouth too as proof that the angel is not happy about his treatment.

But then Castiel sucks in a startled breath.

The space behind Zachariah is no longer empty.

"When you call an Archangel, you really should be more specific."

Sam knows that voice.

Apparently Zachariah does too, because all the borrowed blood drains out of his face, leaving him an unhealthy shade of grey above his expensive tailoring.

Lucifer manages to fill the entire room. Even though he's wearing an expression of curious interest and looking relaxed and easy in his jeans surrounded by angels in suits.

Sam makes some sort of noise and Lucifer turns to look at him.

"Let him go." It's not a suggestion and suddenly there's no longer an angel holding Sam. He sways forward onto his hands then gets his feet under him. Dean's doing the same beside him, the space behind him just as empty, and Castiel moves with him. Stands at his shoulder, bloody but fierce.

One of the angels beside Zachariah sways too close.

Lucifer doesn't attack him, he just lifts a hand and lays his fingers against the angel's chest.

There's a brief flash of light - and then there's nothing where the angel used to be but a dirty grey patch of floor and a slow drift of ashes.

Lucifer blinks slowly, as if he's deciding whether to take everyone else just for the hell of it. Sam suspects a few of them are trying to leave judging by the twitching going on.

"Perhaps I should peel you Zachariah, and see how deep that thread of sanctimonious arrogance runs."

He sets a hand on Zachariah's shoulder, which seems to compress him, to pin him to the spot. For all his quiet noise of horror he seems completely incapable of pulling away.

"Egomania, threats, torture, blasphemy. I would almost be impressed if you were one of mine."

Zachariah seems even smaller as if Lucifer is literally crushing him under his own weight.

"I was always meant for this, but you." Lucifer tilts his head to the side. "I think you're just broken."

When the devil lowers his hand Zachariah is gone.

He turns to regard the others, still hovering in their tidy suits.

Sam's never seen angels vanish so fast in his life.

The moment they're gone Dean's across the floor, grabbing his gun and refocusing it on Lucifer.

"I'm going to take a wild guess that you're Lucifer," Dean says roughly.

"Not so very wild I think." Lucifer looks at Dean's gun like it's some interesting artefact made by an alien species. "Dean Winchester."

Sam takes two uncertain steps forward and Lucifer doesn't miss the movement.

"Hello, Sam," Lucifer says quietly.

Sam's not entirely sure what to say for a long minute. Dean uses the distraction to take another step, though Castiel is now holding his other arm, as if to stop him from doing anything stupid. Or maybe to get them both out of there at the first sign of fire and brimstone.

When Sam completely fails to make his mouth work Lucifer focuses on Dean again.

"We all know you have nothing in your arsenal that could harm me."

He spreads his hands.

"Though feel free to shoot me if it will make you feel better."

Dean shrugs and lifts the gun until it points between his eyes.

"Dean." Sam gives him a look, he's not even entirely sure what sort of look. But Dean mutters something irritated under his breath.

"He's the devil, Sam," he protests. "And messed up as our lives have been for a while I can't just put the gun away and make nice."

"I suspect I would fail at nice as well," Lucifer says smoothly.

Sam's not sure whether to point out that Lucifer did just technically save them all. Though he's fairly sure Dean realises as much, he's just stubbornly not admitting it.

Castiel's hand is wrapped all the way round Dean's arm now. Dean turns to face him for the first time, sees that he's clean and tidy and perfect again. But his first instinct is still clearly to make sure he's alright.

"You ok?"

Castiel nods, though he looks shaken. Eyes drifting from Dean's face to Lucifer and to the spot where Zachariah had vanished from.

"How did you find us?" Sam says bluntly. "We're supposed to be hidden."

"You are," Lucifer says quietly. "But Castiel is not, and neither is your interesting car, you take more than you think with you when you run."

Castiel looks briefly guilty but Dean seems to feel like that one's his fault.

"What did you do with Zachariah?" Sam asks.

Lucifer turns to face him.

"I believe his services were no longer required, and I think you had a better idea of where he belongs. "

That's not an answer. But before Sam can get him to expand on that Lucifer fixes Castiel with a curious look.

"I see you've been given an unexpected promotion," he says slowly.

Castiel looks confused, wary.

Dean frowns at Lucifer, then at Castiel.

"Cas?"

"I'm fine Dean," he says slowly. "I seem to have -"

He never gets to finish because Lucifer leisurely reaches a hand out and -

\- Sam blinks and they're back in the motel

Dean glares at Lucifer, hand still squeezing the grip of his gun.

Lucifer stares impassively back.

Castiel manages to be just close enough to get between them if necessary and Sam has no doubt that he would. The fact that's it's Lucifer be damned.

...

Sam gets fed up of the tense staring contest two minutes in and disappears into the bathroom. His back hurts like hell thanks to the rough treatment from the nameless angel and he'd pretty much just like to smear it in something cold and go lay on his face for a week.

He dumps his jacket over the bath, wincing when fabric pulls against his back.

A quick glance in the mirror confirms he looks like crap. The next time he looks up Lucifer's hovering in the doorway. He didn't hear any horrible screams from the room so he's assuming everyone is still breathing. The ruler of hell is exactly the same in real life. Sam thought maybe he'd seem bigger, more frightening. But he isn't, and that makes it even stranger somehow.

"You're not allowed to kill Dean," Sam says, before anything else. "Or Castiel, or Bobby or Anna, or anyone I'm friends with."

"I expected that much," Lucifer says slowly. "Your brother is everything I've ever heard about him."

Sam thinks that's probably not a compliment. Though he also thinks that's Lucifer attempting to be diplomatic, or maybe nice.

"He didn't shoot you, trust me, that's about as much as you're going to get at the minute."

Sam carefully peels his shirt off and drags the tube of cream off the sink.

"It's not like you've given him any great reason not to stab you in the face and yet, he hasn't done. Which is amazing considering we're hunters and stabbing evil things in the face before they can eat you is pretty much how we're both still alive."

Sam looks up at where Lucifer is very pointedly not staring. It occurs to him how quickly he's relaxed into accepting the fact that Lucifer's here. How he's just behaving like he has almost every night for months. Even though this isn't a dream. He's really here. Dean and Castiel can see him and everything. It makes it sharper somehow. More real in a way he doesn’t know whether to be afraid of.

"It's weird having you here in real life." Sam admits. "We've spent so long making sure you didn't find out where we were..." He trails off, wondering if it's even important now.

"You're far more vibrant in real life," Lucifer says softly. He seems surprised.

Sam raises an eyebrow.

"The visual limitations of the human body are -" Lucifer makes a quiet noise. "-limiting. This is the first time I've really _seen_ you."

Sam doesn't comment on that because he hasn't actually forgotten that they aren't the same species.

Dean and Castiel seemed to manage just fine. But Lucifer isn't Castiel.

Sam winces when his back twinges and eyes the tube he's holding for a second in confusion. Because he's not sure exactly how he's going to do this himself.

"Turn around," Lucifer says quietly.

Sam eyeballs him and then sighs and turns to face the mirror. Lucifer slides the tube out of his hand, seems to briefly find the cap fascinating before he unscrews it and investigates what happens when you squeeze it. The cream is cold when Lucifer carefully paints it over the brand. It's a strange sensation, relief, irritation and pain all at the same time. But Lucifer is quietly efficient and strangely gentle. Though there's a curious, exploratory flavour to the touch that was missing when Castiel did the same thing earlier.

"I never said thank you, for this," Sam says into the mirror.

Lucifer makes a noise, quick and careless, like it's not important.

"I mean it, I don't know why -"

"Perhaps I just did it for you, Sam," Lucifer offers.

"Why would you do that?" Sam asks his reflection. "Why would you give up pretty much everything you came out of hell for?" He leans away from the careful stroke of fingers, slithers round until he's almost sitting on the cold of the sink.

Lucifer's expression is carefully blank.

Sam exhales, quick and untidy, then reaches out and drags Lucifer's in closer by his belt loops.

"Why did you do it?" he asks, demands, maybe begs, It's all tangled up the same way.

"Maybe you won't like the answer," Lucifer says simply, honestly.

Sam nods because he thinks maybe underneath everything Lucifer is still sharp and brittle and brutal. No matter what he protests he's not an angel any more. He's destruction and fire under that pretty white light. Sam thinks maybe he wants just like a demon. But he's trying, he's learning and he's restraining himself. Sam thinks that's pretty damn impressive.

"Don't destroy the world," Sam murmurs against the rough edge of his mouth.

Lucifer breaths out, as if he's just been waiting for Sam to ask for something.

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes," Sam tells him firmly. "That's what I want."

Lucifer nods, very slowly.

Sam makes a noise, because it really shouldn't be this easy.

Or maybe it should.

He fists a hand in Lucifer's shirt and kisses him. This time he knows exactly what he's doing. He ends up pressed into cold porcelain and everything else ends up in the sink with a clatter. Lucifer's hands are in his hair, dragging it off his face. His mouth is hot and dirty and rough and it's nothing like as careful as the first kiss. This one feels sharp and honest and reckless and all Lucifer.

Like this time he doesn't intend to let Sam go afterwards.

Sam thinks he likes it.

He figures if his brother can have some sort of mid-life crisis that involves suddenly being maybe a little bit gay for an angel then so can he.

  
~~~~

  
"Is my brother making out with Lucifer in the bathroom?" Dean asks carefully.

Castiel tilts his head to the side, as if he's checking, which is a little bit disturbing.

"I believe so, yes."

Dean glares at his gun on the table.

Castiel follows his line of sight.

"I suspect shooting Lucifer will only make the situation more complicated."

Dean's kind of figured that out for himself, but he's damn sure that shooting him will make him feel better. It's one thing when it's happening in some quasi-real dreamscape but this is in their motel bathroom for God's sake. He doesn’t know how to deal with that.

If their dad was around he could give Sam his first 'inappropriate boyfriend' speech.

Yeah, and that's a thought he _really_ needed in his head.

"How am I supposed to fight the forces of darkness when they're sleeping with my brother?"

"Perhaps he will not give you reason to," Castiel says slowly.

"You're kidding right? He's _Lucifer_ , I'm fairly sure its not going to be all puppies and kittens. He'll have evil plans. Even if he's seriously interested in Sam he's still evil, with the evil plans." Dean flings a hand out, then drops it abruptly.

Castiel sighs, as if he concedes that there's truth in the assumption.

Then he takes a step, presses his fingers into the back of Dean's hand.

"Sam has learned a great deal. He won't make the same mistakes," Castiel says quietly, firmly.

Dean thinks maybe Castiel really believes it, about them both. And if Dean has to put up with a little weirdness to have this then he's totally ok with that.

He clears his throat. "So, what exactly did Lucifer mean, about a promotion?"

Castiel seems to be resisting the urge to look at himself.

"I seem to have been given Zachariah's position," he says quietly, uncertainly.

Dean raises an eyebrow.

"You're shitting me?"

"Apparently not," Castiel admits. "I am - I can sense the other angels again. I believe some of them are...worried about my reaction." He sounds baffled.

Dean gets the feeling there are angels upstairs who are so getting fired.

"So, who gave you the promotion?"

Castiel remains quiet, but his expression is somewhere between stunned and hopeful.

Dean raises an eyebrow

"Looks like maybe someone's checking their messages after all," he points out.

Castiel still looks like he's a little overwhelmed by the idea.

Dean's not sure he has the ability to be surprised by anything any more. Because this has officially been the weirdest six months of his life. Not necessarily bad-weird just...really freakin' weird. Even by Winchester standards.

"So, now that you're all angel-ed up and my brother's working on convincing Lucifer to not start an apocalypse. It's like the end of the world isn't happening after all -"

"I'm not leaving," Castiel says quietly.

Dean grunts and he thinks maybe he's part relieved that he doesn't have to say it and partly embarrassed that he's that obvious in his stupid neediness.

"You're extra awesome now," he points out. Like he's trying to make Cas go, some sort of stupid relationship suicide that they've proven to be so good at.

"Yes," Castiel says simply. Dean has to smile at Castiel, in any roundabout way, agreeing that he's awesome.

"I'm not exactly of world-shaking importance any more," Dean points out. Because it's true.

"I disagree." Castiel's using his very serious voice again. "The world still insists on being seismically unpredictable when it comes to you."

Which is...yeah. Dean catches one of Castiel's hands and drags him in close enough to kiss until his breathing is short and messy and just a little bit needy.

Before he lets him go.

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

Castiel smiles at him, which is awesome, and it probably makes them _both_ girls but he doesn’t fucking care.

"Hold that thought, because I'm going to yell Sam to get out here in about five minutes. He's not exactly good at restraint when all that post battle adrenaline is going on and that is _so_ not happening on my watch."

"You intend to make sure of it?" Castiel asks curiously from under a raised eyebrow

"You bet your ass. I'm going to cockblock Lucifer at every available opportunity."

"That may not be entirely wise," Castiel says slowly.

"If he wants to get his hands on Sam he's going to have to work for it."

Castiel seems to think he's insane.

Dean throws a hand up. "I can't just _let_ him. He's evil and it's _Sam_. I have to make the effort at least or I won't be able to look at myself in the mirror."

There's the threat of a smile at the corner of Castiel's mouth.

"And you think Sam will not find that irritating?"

Dean huffs and leans back in the chair.

"He wouldn't be Sam if he didn't. He'll get it eventually though, when he's exhausted the bitchface and all his big girl whining."

Dean pulls a face.

"Also, he's not riding in the car. I have a 'no rulers of hell' policy on the interior."

Castiel shakes his head and carries Sam's books from the table to where Sam had left the other's spread out beside his bed.

Dean notices that the laptop's still open, light blinking slowly to tell everyone it's in power saving mode.

He drags it over to shut it down.

There's still a tab open at the bottom. Dean figures it's the last fanfic Cas added to his bookmarks before they went out to save the day.

 _"Deus Ex Machina."_

He's tempted to see what it's about, but he's doing pretty good at not reading the fanfic any more.


End file.
